HARRY POTTER
AND THE PRINCE OF SLYTHERIN

Harry Potter and all associated characters and situations are the property of J.K. Rowling. I make no claim to ownership.

CHAPTER 4: Meet the Potters

1 September 1991

Harry Potter had never considered himself particularly smart, and certainly no one he'd met in his entire life had even suggested that he might be. There had been one letter sent home to the Dursley's in his third year of schooling that indicated he was smart based on a test he'd taken at school and which had been graded by some education officials in London. But his guardians had been convinced that he'd cheated somehow, that a freak like him couldn't possibly be ... gifted. So they locked him in his cupboard for a week and let him eat nothing but stale bread and water. When he went back to school, his teacher told the whole class that he'd admitted to his guardians that he'd cheated on the IQ test they'd all taken and that he was an awful, terrible child. And then, her hair turned blue for some reason. Magic, he now suspected.

After that, Harry set for himself the goal of always doing slightly worse than Dudley in every class, a goal at which he succeeded admirably, though considering Dudley's poor academic skills, Harry had been lucky to have never been transferred to a special needs class. Once, he made it a point of getting every question on an exam correct and then leaving the last seven questions blank just to see if the teacher said anything. She didn't.

In short, Harry Potter learned early and well to never apply himself academically, a lesson which lasted right up until the day he met James Potter. It was like a dam cracking and then shattering, unleashing thoughts the boy had been burying since he was old enough to talk. The first night in his new room, he set himself to studying his new textbooks, starting with Potions. He was a remarkably good cook for an eleven-year-old (surprising the skills one picks up when the alternative is a frying pan flung at one's head), and he thought the principles should be similar. When he first came to a word he didn't understand ("What on Earth is a bezoar?"), he crept downstairs and claimed the Oxford English Dictionary which Aunt Marge had gifted to Dudley but which had never once been opened, and then he wrote the word and its meaning down in a spiral notebook leftover from the previous year of schooling. He started reading the book just after dinner and was surprised when he finally yawned, looked at his watch, and realized it was after midnight. He'd covered six chapters and filled three pages of his notebook. It was more homework than he'd done in his life.

Some people might have mistaken Harry's newfound studiousness for a desire to please the parents who had finally returned for him. Those people would be wrong. Harry had decided that he would excel in order to force his parents to acknowledge what a mistake they had made by tossing him aside, whatever it took. For ten years, the boy had been forced to accept his miserable lot in life as well as the vital need to keep his emotions in check at all costs. Nothing good ever came of getting angry at the way he'd been treated. But now, perhaps for the first time in his life, Harry Potter was angry. Absolutely and unreservedly angry. And it was an anger that burned cold.

For the entire month of August, Harry spent nearly every waking moment poring over the books he'd purchased at Flourish & Botts. He ate sparsely and always in his room, leaving the Dursleys to learn to their disappointment just how bad a cook Petunia was. Mornings were for magic, though just theory and history for now. It was apparently illegal for him to practice actual spells at home prior to the start of school, and while James implied with a wink that the Ministry turned a blind eye to minor spell-casting by pre-First Years, Harry was taking no chances. Afternoons were for etiquette and politics as he struggled to learn the nuances of the odd and insular culture he was about to join. Evenings were for whatever topics had left him with the most questions during the day, plus time spent practicing with a quill which was an entirely new but apparently vital skill to master. Finally, he spent from thirty minutes before bed practicing with his wand holster in front of a mirror, because the first time he'd tried to release the wand from its holster, he'd dropped it onto the floor, and if he did that in front of fellow students, it would be too embarrassing for words.

It was in the second week of studying wizarding politics that he finally came across the law which had actually required James Potter, under threat of jail time no less, to inform his firstborn son of his wizarding heritage and see to his education. After an owl exchange with the clerk at Flourish & Botts, Harry added Hutchinson's Commentary on Wizengamot Inheritance Law to his growing library. Luckily, his trunk had the best (and most expensive) expansion charms available on it. In a pinch, it even had a small room he could sleep in, although the idea of that reminded him too much of his cupboard for it to ever be comfortable.

On weekends, he would take a break by spending a few hours walking in a nearby park. Late on the second Sunday, he finally found what he was looking for: a small garden snake who, when addressed, hesitantly responded to Harry's voice in what sounded oddly like a Cockney accent. The snake, after expressing surprise at the sudden realization that it now had a name, introduced itself as ... Bob. And while Bob was not terribly knowledgeable about magic, he was somehow aware that Harry was "a Speaker," that Speakers were incredibly rare, and that no other snake known to Bob had ever met one. How Bob intuitively knew what other snakes he'd encountered remembered about a particular subject was a mystery even to Bob.

Even more strangely, Bob also indicated that he was only able to know these things while Harry talked with him or otherwise remained aware of him. Apparently, the moment a Parselmouth stopped regarding a particular snake as being worthy of attention, it went back to being a "normal" snake, though if the Speaker addressed it again later, it suddenly remembered everything that had happened in the meantime. But, if Harry actually assigned Bob some sort of task – like "watch over the park for a particular person" or even "go find other snakes and bring them here" – Bob could carry it out to completion, even following relatively complicated tasks in the process, only to revert to mundane "snakiness" when he was done. Strangest of all, the magic that powered Parseltongue seemed to be contagious. Bob could, if ordered to by Harry, go find other snakes and convey Harry's orders to them, which those snakes could then execute with at least as much intelligence and self-awareness as Bob himself had while under Harry's power.

The boy made a mental note of these findings but never committed them to paper, as it was clear from James's comments that Parselmouths were held in great disregard. Mainly, it seemed that this was because "You-Know-Who" was well-known for his Parseltongue abilities. Actually, Harry did not "Know-Who" and said so, but James explained that there was a powerful cultural taboo against speaking aloud the name of "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." After much prodding, James finally whispered that it was "Voldemort" but advised Harry never to say it aloud in polite company or even to write it down. And so, like his Parseltongue observations, Harry did not add the Dark Lord's name to his ever-growing stack of journals. By the end of August, Harry had filled three spiral-bound notebooks with his notes and questions about the Wizarding World, plus a fourth notebook just for calligraphy practice. He had no idea how wizards had gone so long without discovering the refillable ink pen, but he wasn't going to be the one to introduce the concept to them.

On the morning of September 1st, the Potters came by bright and early to pick Harry up from 4 Privet Drive, and he finally got to meet both Lily Potter and the Boy-Who-Lived. The latter was like looking into a fun-house mirror. Jim Potter was obviously Harry's twin, but he still stood almost three inches taller and weighed a stone heavier, most of it muscle. "Obviously, someone hasn't been half-starved for the past ten years," Harry thought ruefully to himself.

Nevertheless, Harry was polite to his sibling and his mother, the latter of whom looked distinctly worried upon meeting her son. And the look that passed between Lily and Petunia! Harry would have been amused if he didn't dislike both women so much. Together, the Potters moved out to a rather fancy limo parked in front of 4 Privet Drive (complete with a driver – Harry knew the Potters were quite wealthy, but he was a bit surprised at how eager they were to show it) with James carrying Harry's trunk and owl cage. As per the advice of the owl salesman, Harry had sent his owl on ahead that morning. She would be waiting at Hogwarts in the owlery. After toying with "Nemesis," "Avenger," and "Death Talon," he had finally named the owl "Hedwig." He told James he had found in a book and thought it "sounded cool." Hedwig was, in fact, the patron saint of orphans.

In the limo, Lily looked over at Harry and started to speak, but the boy interrupted her. "Look, the last time I met with ... Dad, I was upset, and I said some things that probably upset him, and you if he repeated them. But ... I want to go to Hogwarts and learn magic. I want to look forward to the day I never set foot on Privet Drive again. And if that means letting bygones be bygones and trying to be a part of the Potter family, then that's just what I'll do." And with those words, Harry smiled as earnestly as he possibly could, so much so that a slight soreness crept into his cheek muscles. He felt certain that the Potters would recoil from such insincerity, but they all smiled back at him warmly. Apparently, they were that desperate to believe that he could forgive them so easily. Or perhaps, they were just thick.

Jim reached over and punched Harry in the arm playfully. "That's great, Har. And listen, Dad told us that the Dursley's may not have treated you very well. But I promise, it was no picnic for me either. I've had to go through special training since I was eight to get me ready for Hogwarts in case any Death Eaters came after me. And I've had to deal with obnoxious fans always after my autograph. We've all had our problems to deal with."

The ache generated by Harry's smile became almost excruciating at that, but he took a deep breath and exhaled. "That's a very good point... Jim. It must have been ... very rough for you." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lily look suspiciously towards her husband, who swallowed nervously. Harry assumed he'd underplayed the extent of the Dursley's abuse to Jim, and maybe to Lily as well.

"Anyway," continued Jim. "Once we get to Hogwarts and get sorted into Gryffindor, I'll be there to look out for you and help you fit in. Everyone will love you once they find out you're the brother of the Boy-Who-Lived." He actually puffed out his chest at that.

"Jim!" sighed Lily. Apparently she had tried to keep Jim's ego in check, but unsuccessfully. James, of course, was delighted at the thought of his twin sons following in his footsteps.

"Ha ha! Two Potters in Gryffindor at once! Filch will have a coronary!"

Harry chuckled but then turned serious. "Well, I sure hope so. But ... like it or not, Jim and I have led very different lives even though we're twins. I hope you won't be upset with me if I don't make it into Gryffindor."

"Not at all, Harry," said Lily firmly. "All the houses have their good points. Right, James?"

"Alright, alright. Harry, I promise you that no matter what house you get into, we will still love you, and Jim will still look after you."

Harry sighed as if relaxing. "I'm glad. And for what it's worth, Jim. I'll do my best to look after you as well." The other three chuckled warmly, while Harry readied the knife. "After all, I am the Heir."

Jim blinked a few times. "Sorry? What?"

Harry looked around as if afraid he'd made a faux pas. Lily seemed surprised, while James looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon. "I'm sorry," said Harry uncertainly. "I've been cramming books on wizarding culture so I'll fit in better – don't want to make a fool of myself in front of someone from an important family, you know – and there was a chapter that discussed the Wizengamot. It said that because I was the firstborn wizarding child, I was automatically the Heir Presumptive for House Potter. Did I get that bit wrong?"

He hadn't, of course. His copy of Hutchinson's devoted almost 300 pages to discussing the Wizengamot, the families who ruled it, and the thousand-year-old laws governing succession to a seat in it, particularly to an Ancient and Noble Seat like that of the Potters. Harry was first born, and indisputably a wizard. Ergo, he was automatically the Heir Presumptive for House Potter and would be elevated to Heir Apparent once he'd come of age and passed enough OWLs. Before then, James could theoretically disinherit him personally from any assets that were his and not entailed to the family and maybe deprive him of spending money during his Hogwarts years. But his education and living expenses were paid for through graduation plus a mastery if he wanted it, and at seventeen, he was guaranteed a sizeable monthly stipend from the family trust for life. And, he was guaranteed the Potter Seat and all the entailed properties and assets someday provided he outlived James and avoided a surprisingly short list of sins that legally justified disinheriting an Heir. Even a felony conviction couldn't deprive him of protected status unless the sentence exceeded five years.

Lily and Jim, neither of whom seemed to know about such things, just looked back and forth between James and Harry inquisitively, as James hesitantly admitted the truth. "Yes, Harry. You are the oldest so technically that makes you the Heir Presumptive. Honestly, I hadn't give it much thought. I hope to live to a ripe old age before I have to worry about turning things over to an heir, after all."

"Oh, I do too, Dad," said Harry cheerfully. Then, he turned to his brother. "From what I read, it seems like the Wizengamot is kinda boring. I bet your happy that you have an older brother who can take care of all it – business management, estate planning, and other legal stuff like that – while you go do ... Boy-Who-Lived things."

Jim laughed. "Ha, ha. Fair enough, Harry. You handle all the boring family business stuff and I'll go out and fight the bad guys."

Lily clucked her tongue and admonished Jim for such foolish ideas, while James just stared at Harry quietly with a strange look on his face, an odd mixture of embarrassment, guilt and ... anger? And then, Harry realized. He simply knew somehow that James had actually tried to disinherit Harry in favor of Jim and then found out he lacked the legal power to do so. Harry broke his eye contact with his father and turned to look out the car window as the London streets flew by. He couldn't show anger, not now. And he wouldn't cry!

After regaining control of his emotions, Harry turned back to his family, his mask firmly back in place. The rest of the trip was spent making idle chitchat with his parents, especially his mother. What was it like as a muggleborn student? Should Harry expect the same treatment as a half-blood who was muggle-raised? Where do muggleborns get their magic from anyway? Harry already had a few ideas on that last question, and he'd spent some of his time between his birthday and today wheedling family history out of Petunia, but he was curious as to what a Muggle Studies professor might think. Her response – which boiled down to "nobody likes to talk very much about that" – was not reassuring, particularly in light of the mild condescension his father seemed to have for what his mother went through as a brilliant but prickly Muggleborn. Oh, and he had a lot of bad things to say about someone named "Snivellus" about whom Lily would say nothing, though the mention of his name seemed to make her sad.

"Oh well," thought Harry. "If someone like James Potter has gone to all the trouble of giving this 'Snivellus' an insulting nickname, he can't be too bad."

Updated 8/28/16. Mainly tweaked dialogue, though I did decide that Harry's owl would be called Hedwig. I don't use the owl enough for it to be a big deal, but calling it "Nemesis" as the earlier draft did seems kind of silly and over the top now. He might as well have named it "I Hate the Potters," and Slytherin!Harry is way too smart for that.

AN 1: If you haven't noticed by now, this Harry is very smart and very articulate compared to most 11-year-olds. Actually, most of these kids are well-spoken for eleven-year-olds, and the in-setting reason for that will be revealed in an upcoming chapter. The REAL reason is that I can't convincingly write dialogue for an 11-year-old to save my life. That said, both Harry and Hermione are exceptionally intelligent even by the standards of their peers. Harry, in particular, while not quite as smart as super-genius Harry Potter-Evans-Verres from Methods of Rationality, very clever and articulate (not to mention a deadpan snarker) compared to canon!Harry as well as the average 11-year-old child. This is a plot point that will become very important later. For right now, just go with it.